Oh, bugger
by bobnbob
Summary: Something about Remnant just wasn't right, so why not change it. What happens when you insert a non-Remnant human into Remnant? A story of madness, explosions, inexplicable idiocy, and blind morons. Featuring an idiot with an LMG, a fool with an SMG, a gravitonic demigod, and anger management issues. Did I mention the explosions? **Dead until the co-author returns**
1. Teaser

A/N: This is a RWBY OC story that seeks to address the strange lack of sense that RWBY humans seem to have. After all, why rely on a desperate team of teenagers to save the world when you can have an army at your back. There will be humor, mostly sarcasm, and fantastic feats, but this is one of those stories that seeks to make Remnant more brutal and realistic, hence the M rating.

The story is a collaborative effort between myself and Thraus. Neither of us own RWBY (unless he's holding back on me), and we make no promises on update schedules. There is some content in final review, but we both have busy lives. This posting is a teaser, and features characters that may not be seen for a long time. Canon characters will likely be involved in the story, but it is not a direct insertion into the canon adventure. Please feel free to read and review, we are always open to thoughts, questions, and constructive critiques.

**NOTICE: THERE WILL BE TRIGGER WARNING WORTHY CONTENT IN THIS STORY. IT WILL NOT BE STATED AGAIN OUTSIDE OF THIS MESSAGE.**

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The howl of a Beowolf brought Forrest out of his catnap with a jerk. He relaxed slightly when there were no sounds of distress or fighting around him, but the sound still meant only one thing, the Grimm had come to the town again. He was up on his feet momentarily, hefting his spear and collapsed shield once more. A quick glance around showed little had changed since he had fallen asleep. He and Grizz were in the town's food market building along with the surviving towns people. They had barricaded all of the secondary entrances and built a rough bulwark inside the main door. They had attempted to make spiked poles that stuck out of the bulwark, using broom handles, broken pipes, even a discard crutch. Forrest doubted they would do much, but anything would be more helpful than nothing, and the work of fashioning defenses had helped to boost morale, if only slightly.

The noncombatant members of the town, which was most of them because of the low number of weapons available, were gathered towards the back of the store. They had done their best to stay busy with building, taking stock of the supplies they had, and tending to the injured. There weren't many people left in the town, about fifty had made it to the store, but if they didn't draw in another large group of Grimm then they would probably survive until Sie and Ama returned with transportation.

The impromptu militia members were all nervously manning the bulwark. They looked about, trying to locate the source of the howl, or 'checked' their weapons, using any sort of activity to distract them from the thought of what was coming. The weapons they held had been provided by a small group of White Fang who had apparently been planning some sort of operation in the area but had chosen to assist the town when the original attack had started. The faunus had rallied the town into a militia defense, many giving their lives to the effort, and helped hold the town until AFSG had arrived to tip the balance in the humans' favor. There was only one of the terrorists left. He sat off to one side smoking cigarette while he waited for the new attack to come. Forrest doubted any of them would ever become friends, but he did respect the faunus for choosing to defend these people when they had all likely known that things would not end well. The fact that this particular faunus still stayed, even after his brethren had fallen, and there had been opportunity to leave, indicated either a strong character, or a lack of hope so deep that he had moved to full resignation.

Another howl sounded out in the town. Forrest turned toward the main doors. He had been resting on the exposed side of the bulwark. There wasn't a lot of room between the bulwark and the door, but there was enough room that he and Grizz could move about, but any attacking grim would be funneled through in smaller numbers in the tight doorway. The two huntsmen would act as the first line of defense, being the most experienced, and being the only melee fighters. The militia would be behind them, covering the flanks, and providing supporting fire. Luckily, the setup suited the two huntsmen just fine. Forrest would be the wall, while Grizz would be the hand that smashed the Grimm against it.

The real problem with the entire setup was the lack of escape route. It went against everything they had been trained as huntsmen, where mobility and retreat were strongly encouraged when facing superior foes. As much as huntsman were tough, the best defense they could have was to not get hit, and the best offense was to be alive to fight another day. That philosophy couldn't be applied here though because, even if they had left an escape route open, the townspeople would not have been able to outrun the Grimm and would end up being killed anyway.

Forrest stepped into the doorway to better view the town outside. The store was located at the end of a street, with houses and small shops lining the couple blocks before it ran into the edge of town. The buildings were generally undisturbed, the earlier fight had taken place on the other side of town, but suddenly discarded items lay about the street. The oddity of the debris, coupled with the unusual quiet of the street, created a subtle mystery that caused a slight sense of foreboding. Forrest wasn't bothered by this, because he knew what has caused it. He was just glad there weren't any blatant signs of the battle that had happened, or the loss the town had experienced. As it was the bright sunlight overhead almost made the place seem cheery. Almost.

A light breeze blew down the street, catching a couple scraps of paper in its erratic swirls. A shiver ran down Forrest's spine as the foreboding grew stronger, reminding Forrest of the calm before the storm.

He twitched slightly as Grizz stepped into the doorway next to him. The big man carried his own sense of presence, one of death and destruction, though it held less malice than the Grimm. It was more a feeling of strength and confidence, telling those around not to cross him because they wouldn't succeed. Neither huntsman said a word, instead focusing all their attention on searching for a clue of their enemies' whereabouts. They certainly couldn't see any Grimm; the black shapes were not exactly difficult to pick out in an environment this bright. Forrest closed his eyes and focused on his hearing. He could easily hear the murmurs of conversation and shuffle of movement from inside the store. He could hear the wind blowing about in the street, playing with things the people had left behind like toys for it to poke at. Further away he could make out the sound of a door or shutter banging against the building it hadn't been properly secured to. There as something else though, something Forrest couldn't quite make out. He held up a fist, and a few seconds later the store became deathly quiet, its inhabitants shushed by his command. Forrest focused harder on the sound, wracking his brain for the words to identify it. It was almost like…. like…. scraping?

Instantly his eyes were open, and his face darkened as he spotted the Beowolf as it stepped into the street, two blocks down from them. The entire world seemed to still as if waiting to see what the beast would do. The Beowolf didn't appear to have seen them. It moved into the middle of the street before pausing. There it stopped and stood on its hind legs, sniffing at the air and looking about. Forrest tensed slightly, waiting for it to react to their presence. After a couple of snuffles, it slowly lowered itself back onto all fours before continuing across the street. As it passed out of sight behind a house, Forrest and Grizz both released the breath they had been holding.

A piercing scream shattered the stillness. Forrest jumped in surprise and searched frantically for the source. A small figure burst from the third house on the right. The figure was about the size of a child and appeared to be covered in white and pink colors.

_Oh no,_ Forrest realized horrifically, _it's a child._

It was a young girl, to be exact. He estimated she was about ten, had pink and brown colored hair, and wore a white dress with pink accents. She ran into the street, clearly terrified of whatever had frightened her, but she also didn't seem to have any idea of where she was going, just away from the monster. She moved to a car in the street and crouched into the fetal position, crying in terror.

'Neo?'

Forrest turned to the source of the question. One of the men from the town was approaching the bulwark. _This is not going to go well._

The girl apparently heard the man's question because she began to call out for him.

'Daddy! Help me, daddy!'

'Neo!'

The man began to move forward purposefully, trying to push past a militia member and climb the bulwark.

'Shit,' Forrest cursed, 'Hold him back!' _This is not going well._

'Get him off the wall!'

Forrest turned back to the street, all but certain that the Beowolf would be drawn back by all the noise. As he did so, the front of the house the girl had run out of exploded, and a Beowolf tumbled into the yard. The girl shrieked again, curling up even tighter into herself.

'NOOO!'

The bellow sounded right next to Forrest.

'Grizz!'

Forrest reached out to stop the man, but he was already out of reach. He was drawing his weapon and rushing straight towards the Beowolf, which was beginning to rise. Forrest moved to follow but caught sight of the first Beowolf as it came charging around the corner of a house. More Grimm began to pop out frim around and inside houses up and down the street. Beowolves, Boartusks, Ursa, and even a couple of Griffons flew down from above.

'FUCK! Cover the left side!'

Forrest gestured to the side of the road, directing the militia's attack. With so many Grimm around he couldn't risk leaving the store, even to help Grizz. If he did it would only take a couple of Grimm getting inside to slaughter everyone. He would just have to trust that Grizz would keep a level enough head to not get killed and support him as well as he could from the entrance.

Forrest shifted his weapon into rifle form and lifted the now firearm to his shoulder. He knelt onto his right knee and sighted in on the nearest Grimm to the little girl. The first burst tore into the neck and shoulder of a Beowolf charging up the middle of the street, ruining its foreleg, and causing it to tumble over itself. It probably wasn't dead, but there were more important targets now that its advance was stalled. A charging Boartusk was next. Thankfully, it wasn't rolling yet, so it too was fairly easy to delay. Another Beowolf followed, with three more on its heels. At least one of the monsters went down with a round through the eye, but most were only being delayed temporarily. That was fine with Forrest, he just needed to give Grizz a few more seconds to get the girl.

The barbarian seemed to have other plans though. When he reached the wolf that had come out of the house, he attacked full force, using his massive blade and considerable momentum to cleave it in half. It was definitely dead, and he was now free to grab the girl and bring her back to safety. Grizz, however, did not do the smart and logical thing. Instead he grabbed the lower half of the Beowolf he just killed and threw it bodily into a nearby Boartusk. He followed the throw up with another bellowing charge. His berserk rage turned him into a dervish of steel and muscular flesh which none of the swarming Grimm could withstand.

'Grizz!' Forrest yelled again, hoping to draw him back, 'Pick up the girl and get your ass back here! Grizz!'

The bigger man ignored him though and Forrest growled in frustration as he unloaded an entire magazine into an Ursa's face. The beast backed off under the hail of fire, and Forrest reloaded quickly, years of experience making the motion second nature. He had enough ammunition for now, but it wouldn't last forever against an onslaught like this. He just hoped the militia would also be able to keep it up. So far they had done a reasonable job of holding back the left side, keeping the Grimm from getting into the building or flanking him.

The sustained fire had begun to have an effect, enraging them and drawing more of their focus towards the store. It took some of the heat off Grizz, but, as more Grimm swarmed into the street, the corridor for Grizz to be able to make it back to the store began closing. Forrest increased his fire as much as he could, making every effort to kill or maim every Grimm he targeted.

He fought desperately against the rising tide of black, but it didn't seem to be enough. Just before everything seemed lost, and Grizz was completely swallowed by the writhing black mass, the young girl let out another scream. Forrest looked back over by the car and saw the reason for her increased terror. A Death Stalker was approaching the girl, and the large viscous insect was clearly intent to cause her harm. Forrest swore again as he targeted its face. He wouldn't be able to kill it with his rifle, but maybe he could get a hit on its eyes, convincing it to back off.

The bullets flew all around the Death Stalker's face. Most bounced harmlessly off the white bone armor. It hissed at the attack but kept advancing. As it reached the range where it could strike at the girl, Forrest finally managed to land the hit he needed. The monster screeched and began to flail about wildly, while clawing at is face with its two large pincers. Forrest continued to fire, trying to drive it back, but it held its ground, striking blindly out for the girl, intent on the kill. Grizz chose that moment to rejoin the scene, performing a lunging roll to scoop the girl off the ground and shield her with his body as he ran back toward the store. The Death Stalker, sensing that its quarry was escaping, uncovered its eyes and attacked with a lunging stab at the huntsman. Grizz was unable to dodge or move with the blow, lest he endanger his charge, and was forced to take the full force of the impact. He grunted and stumbled forward, but his aura manifested and prevented him from being fully impaled. Grizz continued to run toward the store, but Forrest could tell that the fight had taken a lot out of him. He switched his weapon back to a spear and deployed his shield into its kite form.

'Help them inside,' he ordered as he charged forward to protect his teammate.

His first opponent was a rolling Boartusk. He bodily collided with the side of the monster, forcing it to unravel where he struck it with his spear, piercing it through the cheek and out the other side of its head, just below the skull. He twisted the spear and withdrew it before thrusting out towards an approaching Beowolf. He caught this Grimm in the chest, likely puncturing a lung. The beast's insides were shredded more as he withdrew the blade, but he didn't have time to pay it further attention as he moved on to another Grimm. He began backing up, one step at a time, as he struck out constantly. A thrust here, a swing there. Some strikes killed, others removed limbs, but all helped him keep the monsters at bay as he moved back to relative safety. There were too many Grimm for him to escape unscathed, and while he blocked as many blows as he could, there were some hits he just couldn't stop.

The last blow he took was from the Death Stalker. It had worked its way up through the mob and struck at him with its tail. Forrest managed to block the tail from hitting him directly, but he was forced to take the full force behind the attack and was thrown back through the store entrance.

He got back up as quickly as he could balance himself, expecting Grimm to be rushing the entrance at any moment. The militia held the hoard at bay for a few moments, killing some smaller grim with their concentrated fire, but it wouldn't stop an Ursa, or the Death Stalker. Forrest was confused why Grizz wasn't helping hold the entrance. He spared a moment to look about and located the man off to one side of the entrance. He had been pulled over the bulwark but was now slumped limply against the wall of the shop. His sword was on the ground next to him, but he showed no signs of movement. One of the townspeople appeared to be inspecting him for injuries, but there was no indication that he would be back in the fight soon.

_Damn it, this is not good._

Forrest felt a spike of panic at the sight of his friend's condition. The man clearly was worse than Forrest had thought and needed medical help. Unfortunately, with the Grimm pushing the entrance of the store there wasn't likely going to be any help waltzing up the street any time soon. Worse, their defense had just gotten a lot weaker, now relying solely on him as its linchpin.

Forrest took a breath and squashed the panic back down. There was only one course of action for this situation, to be the wall. He had to stand, keeping the Grimm at bay. The militia would help him kill the monsters, but he needed to hold them back from getting inside. There was no secondary plan now, no backup, no escape. He deployed his shield to full tower form and strode toward the main door once more, striking out at a Beowolf that had just made it past the entrance. The beast went down, where a militia member finished it off with a burst. He stepped fully into the doorway and braced against the multitude of attacks that bashed against his shield. He struck out again and again with his spear, not hardly needing to aim as so many beasts tried to fit into the small gap created by the door way. He gritted his teeth against the force of the blows, the jarring force pushing him slightly back.

_I cannot move, if they get past me everyone is dead. Grizz will be dead._

Forrest readjusted his feet, regaining the couple of inches he has lost, bracing himself again. A Boartusk charged, and he shoved forward to meet the monster at the last moment. Both combatants rebounded from the blow, but Forrest recovered more quickly and gored the beast with his spear.

_I will not be moved._

The tide continued to press against him. Grimm bodies fell to the ground, but more came, climbing over the bodies of their fellows, even the fallen began to evaporate. An Ursa attacked, pounding him with its great mass. Forrest could do little except weather the attack, waiting for an opening to strike at the arms of the bear, creating an opening in its form where he could strike a killing blow.

_I will not be moved!_

More Grimm came, and more Grimm died. He was tired, he could feel his aura depleting quickly, and small scratches and cuts began to show in his form. Although his shield could take most of the force of the blows, some Grimm and longer claws and were able to strike at his arms and shoulders as the bashed against him. He refused to retreat though, having mentally accepted that doing so would result in the deaths of everyone inside, and the only way he was willing to allow that was if he were dead first. It brought a whole new meaning to the phrase, 'Over my dead body.'

A Griffon flew down from above striking at him as it landed. He stumbled slightly, lifting his shield off the ground to keep if from being overextended. The beast made another attack, this time trying to take him into its mouth to swallow him. Its beak caught the top and bottom of his shield and drew him forward, trying to raise him into the air so it could use gravity to assist. He struck out around his shield once more though, the long blade of his spear biting deep into the soft flesh inside the monster's mouth. It screeched and flailed, nearly ripping his shoulder out if its socket before he was able to strike the roof of its mouth again and put and end to its existence.

_No! I will not be moved!_

Forrest resettled once more in the doorway, planting his shield. With the large body of the Griffon out of the way more Grimm attacked, and Forrest continued to hold his ground. His muscles ached from the constant tensing, and his bones creaked with every blow. He continued to hold though, his aura manifesting more and more as he relied more and more on his will power to keep fighting.

A slight shaking of the ground alerted him that something even bigger was coming and Forrest risked a peak around his shield to see what it was. The Death Stalker was lumbering his way at full speed, intent to smash through his defense. Another spike of panic welled up within him at the sight. There was no way he could resist that. It wasn't a matter of strength or will power, at the end of the day physics was king in fighting, and although the scorpion wasn't moving terribly fast, the impact of its large mass against him would apply so much force that there was no way he wouldn't be thrown out of place. He simply didn't weigh enough.

It didn't matter, he had to fight it. If his defense failed, then everyone inside the store would be killed. The entire town would be slaughtered, and all their efforts would be for nothing. If he failed the Grizz would die. He thought about the impact his and Grizz's deaths would have on Sie and Ama. He wasn't entirely sure how the older man would take it, but he suspected the man would wall up once more, effectively killing himself emotionally. The loss of all three emotional bonds with her team would probably hit Ama even harder, and he was realistic that her chances wouldn't be good after that. Both members might live on, but it likely wouldn't be more than going through the motions because their muscles demanded activity. He couldn't do that to them. He couldn't allow the deaths of so many people. He couldn't fail in his defense.

'I. WILL. NOT. BE. MOVED!'

Forrest roared out his defiance, pouring his entire being into his defense as the Death Stalker collided with him. It was difficult for Forrest to describe what happened in that moment. It felt like there was a huge weight laid upon him, but he didn't know how much of it was caused by any one source. It was possible the sensation came from the exhaustion in his muscles, burning as they continued to hold up his heavy equipment. It could have come from the weight of the Death Stalker, the large Grimm colliding with his shield with such force that any normal human would have been crushed instantly. It may have been from stress of the situation, the responsibility that he felt creating a psychological reaction to feel physical weight on his shoulders. Something resounded within him though that none of those were the case. His souled seemed to thrum within him. This was its full presence, finally released for the first time. This was his semblance. He felt heavy simply because because he was, he had increased his mass so that he would not be moved, and he was not moved.

Physics dictates that when two bodies collide an equal and opposite force is applied to both bodies. This force is simplified to be calculated as mass multiplied by acceleration. The large mass of the Death Stalker, combined with the sudden acceleration of its impact with the huntsman, created a very large force. Because this force must be applied equally to both bodies, the body will less mass receives a higher acceleration, whereas the body with greater mass sees very little acceleration. Under normal circumstances, the impact of the Death Stalker with the huntsman would result with the huntsman being thrown back, due to the large mass of the Death Stalker, but thanks to his newly unlocked semblance, this was not the case for Forrest. The force of the blow had been so strong that the concrete floor below him had cracked, but his footing remained firm, and he only swayed slightly with the blow. He was not moved, and physics worked in his favor. The Death Stalker, now being the smaller mass, bounced off his shield and stumbled back a few feet, stunned by the blow.

Adrenaline was pumping through his system so strongly that Forrest didn't stop to think about the bizarre turn of events, his mind whirling to take advantage of the circumstances.

_I need to attack quickly, strike at its face while it's still stunned._

He struck out, moving lightning quick, his arm and weapon seeming to weigh nothing as they snapped forward, but the blow just glanced off the thick bone armor of the beast's face.

_Shit. I need to strike fast and hit hard._

He struck out again, again with the speed and weightlessness from the first blow, but just before impact the sensation changed, and his muscles burned with the sudden weight of his arm and spear. He overextended and needed to lean slightly more of his weight on his shield to keep from losing his balance, but the blow struck with much greater force than the first. A loud crack sounded, and the bone armor split in half where he struck between two of the creature's eyes. His long blade sunk deep into the softer flesh of the monster's skull, piercing its brain. The loss of coherent brain function caused the Death Stalker's muscles to contract erratically, and its limbs thrashed about erratically. Forrest withdrew his spear and hid behind his shield to prevent from being struck accidently until the beast flopped onto its side and curled in on itself. He drew a breath as it stilled and used the sudden calmness to take in the rest of the situation.

Grimm still moved about outside, but they were fewer in numbers than before, and not more large monsters appeared. Forrest could see the end, and hope began to rise within him that they would make it out of this. The hope lent energy to his tired muscles, and he shifted back into his defense once more, preparing to finish up the rest of the hoard.

The beasts came crashing in again, but the relative strength of their blows was not the same. Forrest knew that Grimm did not respond psychologically to the deaths of their fellow monsters as humans might, but the beasts did not seem to attack with the same ferocity as before. In the end though, they still attacked, and the defenders of the store still fought them back.

It took another ten minutes or so to finish off the last of the monsters, and, when the last Beowolf had been felled, Forrest waited for a moment for another blow to fall. When none came he looked tentatively around his shield but could spot none of the black monsters anywhere in the street or houses. He released some of the tension in his body, rising from his half crouch behind his shield. There were no Grimm to be seen, whether dead or alive, and there was no sound in the street except the wind rustling through the trash. A cheer rose up behind him, first from one militia member, then another. It quickly spread to all the townspeople within the store. He relaxed even more, dropping his shoulders and lowering his spear from a ready position. Forrest allowed the jubilation of the moment to wash over him, soothing the stress and anxiety that had risen in him during the fight. They had done it, they had held off the Grimm, and no one had been lost.

Forrest's countenance darkened at that thought. He turned back to the interior of the building. The militia members clapped each other on the back, or gave high fives, laughing in relief. The townspeople further back in the store were hugging and laughing as well, chatting animatedly. He could see the pink haired girl and her father, dancing a little jig in celebration. Forrest was glad they were happy, that they had survived, but, in the end, he didn't know any of them, and they weren't really his main concern.

There, still slumped against the wall, was Grizz. A bandage had been wrapped around his shoulder, but there was no visible blood on it. Forrest thought that was a good thing, and the wound must be minor, but any wound of that sort didn't seem like it would be enough to knock out the big man.

Forrest walked over and set his gear against the wall. He kicked Grizz's leg, hoping to stir him into wakefulness.

'Hey man, time to wake up.'

The barbarian didn't respond, so Forrest tried again. He crouched down next to the man and put his hand on the man's unbandaged shoulder and shaking him gently.

'Grizz.'

Again, there was no stirring.

Forrest placed his fingers on the man's neck, feeling for a pulse. It was there, though it felt weak and inconsistent. Forrest sighed, relaxing slightly. His teammate was alive, and his unconscious state was likely just a shutdown forced by his aura to help him heal.

*Ahem*

Somebody cleared their throat gently next to Forrest. He looked up to see a middle-aged woman. She was wearing the same clothes as the townsperson who had been next to Grizz earlier, so he supposed she was the one who bandaged him. She held out a hand in greeting. Forrest stood up and shook it.

'Marion Osten.'

'Forrest Halden.'

'I did what I could for your friend. He had several minor cuts and scrapes that were already beginning to heal, but the main issue is the large stab in his back.'

Forrest grimaced at the description. He didn't know what exactly had struck Grizz hard enough to injure him, but his fears immediately pointed towards the Death Stalker.

'I don't think the wound itself would be too much of a problem, aura can heal some amazing things, but it continued to seep blood even as I tried to stitch it up. There also seemed to be some discoloration around the wound, so I'm not sure if it was poisoned, or if there is an infection beginning already.'

_Damn,_ Forrest thought. His fears had almost certainly been confirmed, and it was all but guaranteed that the Death Stalker had struck the blow. The poison in the barb in its tail was difficult to counteract, and Grizz needed real medical attention immediately. He sighed heavily.

'Thank you, I truly appreciate you doing what you could.'

'You're welcome, I wish I could do more, but I don't have any proper supplies.'

'It's fine, if you would be willing to continue doing whatever you can I would be most grateful.'

'Absolutely, it's the least I can do. Afterall, we owe the two of you our lives.'

Forrest smiled thinly before picking up his equipment and stepping away. There wasn't anything he could truly do to help Grizz, and somebody still needed to keep watch. He would be sure to be there if his friend woke up, but for now he just needed to keep busy to keep himself from being overwhelmed by the stress of his friend's condition. He looked around briefly once more at the group before walking back over to the main entrance. He stepped outside and examined the street once more. It was still quiet and calm, only the wind moving about, and there was nothing to cause him alarm. He knelt down and began collecting the empty magazines he had strewn about in the early stage of the defense. There was a box of few dozen spare rounds that Sie and Ama had left, and while he doubted they would be attacked again, he wanted to make sure to be as prepared as possible. He retrieved the box and found a spot on the bulwark that was reasonably comfortable and had a good view out into the street. He glanced over one more time at Grizz's form before sighing heavily again and beginning the repacking process.


	2. Prologue

_A/N: Here's the prologue for Oh, Bugger. Yes, this is posted in the correct story. If you are confused, just hang in there and things will make more sense in chapter one. _

Planet Bansond burned in the fires raging across the galaxy. In the ruins of the planetary capital Gadaldell, the last few defenders valiantly tried the impossible, to save the world they had no connection to.

Stubber fire pinged off the wall that served as his makeshift cover. It wouldn't last for much longer. The sheer amount of firepower aimed at him was slowly but surely chipping it away piece by piece. A few blind shots over the windowsill were rewarded by the end of the screaming in the distance, not that it helped in calming down the situation. The sound of heavy stubbers, autoguns, and battle-cannons filled the air. Sadly, the cracks of returning lasgun fire grew more sporadic with each moment, bolters barked here and there, but the situation was clear. The capital had fallen, and with it perhaps the planet itself. There was simply too many traitors, cultists, daemons and Chaos Astartes for the PDF and six mauled Guard regiments to fight off. Even the Wolves of Fenris could not change the inevitable, being swarmed by Traitor Astartes bearing the mark of Khorne from the moment they made planetfall.

His cursing of the overall situation was cut short as something flew over the windowsill he was using to pepper the ravening hordes and rolled over the floor. Without a second thought he jumped after it, grabbed it mid-jump and threw it back out of the window.

The grenade didn't even reach the window when the fuse burned up and it went off. It disappeared along with half the wall. _Welp, there goes the cover._ A cultist jumped through the new hole. Cultist didn't get far before eating a face-full of las-fire. The second and third went down in the same burst that ended the wretched existence of the first one, but, as with any Chaos assault, for every cultist that fell there was at least a hundred others ready to die for their dark masters. More and more of the deranged fanatics poured in with each moment. He threw away any and all notions of trigger discipline and let off a stream of continuous fire from his hellgun, but it still was not enough.

Just as he was about to be buried beneath a pile of bodies and get skewered on various bladed weapons that came dangerously nearer to him with each moment, two more soldiers stepped inside the room and ripped the frenzied crowd to pieces with streams from their own hellguns.

"Colonel, now is not the time to be lying around," said the one on the left in a masculine voice as he extended his hand to help his superior to his feet.

"Well, you see Sergeant, I just decided to take a nap for a second," the colonel replied with a hint of humour in his voice as he took the offered hand.

Thankfully it seemed like this particular mob was done because there were no more lunatics trying to get inside. The colonel cast a hard look at the two troopers, each a veteran of his command squad, that came to his aid. Their Carapace armour was scratched and burned in many places, one of them was missing armour plates on his left leg with his fatigues burned and bloodied. The second one had her torso plate cracked and bloody bandages peeked from underneath it.

"Any word from Second company?" the colonel asked his vox-specialist as he looked at her.

"Second called an artillery strike on their position six minutes ago," she replied. Even with her voice distorted by her helmet, it was easy to sense the anger in her voice.

"What about Fifth?" he tried again, knowing what the answer would be.

"They got overrun half an hour ago. Last two platoons reported being under fire from Archenemy armour one block northwest of our position." She spit out.

At that moment, the rest of his command squad joined them. His felinid colour sergeant greatly had expanded her collection of scars, judging from the bandages wrapped around half her body and even around her forehead. She still had a hard look of determination in her eyes and the regimental standard firmy gripped in her hand. The medic noticed the colonel's eyes on him and shook his head. He was the least injured, but was not unscathed. His cracked helmet was dangling on his belt and large bruise was turning his right temple purple. He handed pair of dog-tags to the colonel who hooked them to his belt right next to collection of others.

_That is it, the end of B'Hemian Fifteenth. There's no way we walk away from this, _thought the colonel to himself. He tried but could not find a way to save what little remained of his regiment. First, Third, and Fourth companies were long gone. Now Second had joined them, along with Fifth, no doubt.

"Did you get in touch with the Lord General?"

He knew she couldn't have, but miracles happen sometimes.

"I couldn´t. Not since the attack started," she confirmed his doubts.

There was no reason to ask about the fate of their support elements, those were destroyed on previous battlefield and were never replaced.

"Do you think you can get to the Valhallans?" the colonel asked the the veteran sergeant.

"From what Third reported in their last transmission? Unlikely," he replied after a moment of deliberation.

Any further planning was interrupted by a growing shaking and trembling around them, which was soon accompanied by a rumbling sound. Corrupted battle-tanks came from behind the corner to their left, and a maulerfiend following them simply burst through the ruins of habitats hit by artillery fire days ago. The colonel knew that the fate of Fifth company was sealed, the tanks came from the northwest, and there was no way his men could even scratch the maulerfiend. They wouldn't have run either, which meant they met their final fate.

His hand fingered the flickering gemstone next to the wolf amulet hanging from his neck. He knew there was only one way this was going to end. A fitting end, for the commander should share the fate of his men. He looked back at his command squad. He did not need to ask, it was more than clear that they would follow him.

"Do you still have that Melta bomb, Uriel?" he addressed his heavy weapons specialist.

"Yes, sir! Which one is the recipient?" the man responded with elation at the prospect of using it.

The colonel shook his head, and reached out. Uriel grudgingly handed the potent weapon over.

"This is the only way to the Valhallans flank. If that murderfiend goes down, it will give the Valhallans time to react." Colonel stated as he hefted the bomb.

"That is suicide, sir," his other veteran stated the obvious.

"I am fully aware of that, Ellyn."

He turned to face his last subordinates, those whose lives were sworn to his command.

"It has been a pleasure knowing you all. I am honored to have led you."

It was hard to ignore the pain that grew in his heart once more, and how it added to the seemingly crippling weight lying on his shoulders. He was fully aware that this wouldn't be the end of him, but the same couldn't be said for them, just like countless others before them.

They returned his sentiments and without much further discussion set off. The squad set up on the third floor of a derelict building overlooking the street upon which the heretics advanced. The colonel slowly crawled to the wall of the first floor few buildings further and on the other side of the street. He signaled his readiness to his squad via a click on the comms.

Three hellguns and a lone bolt-pistol let loose upon the infantry accompanying the column, drawing all of the focus to themselves, which reflected in steadily increasing amount of small arms fire. The colonel counted to five and set off at a dead sprint to the hulking mechanical bulk of the maulerfiend as it tried to reorient itself to snuff out his squad. One cultist actually had peripheral vision, and noticed the armoured man running down the street. It tried to warn its comrades, but received a las-bolt from the passing Colonel for his efforts. The inevitable could not be stopped, though, and few cultists figured out that the idiot charging them was probably bigger danger than the holed up gunners shooting at them.

He was sixty meters away from his target when the first bullets started pinging of his refractor field.

At fifty meters one of the tanks started rotating its turret to target the squad.

At thirty meters heavy stubbers opened up on him.

At twenty-five meters he got grazed by an autocannon burst and his refractor field overloaded.

At twenty meters the tank fired a shell into the position of his squad. Two hellguns went silent, shortly followed by the bolt-pistol as autocannons tore that particular cover into bits.

At ten meters he prepared to throw the heavy bomb, and the maulerfiend finally realized the threat he posed.

When he estimated to be approximately five meters from the maulerfiend, he skidded to a halt and hurled the multi-kilogram bomb.

Several things happened at once. Another tank fired, and the last hellgun went silent. The colonel threw the bomb, and got hit by a stubber burst which sent him cartwheeling onto the ground and damaged his armour plates. Then, as if it was not enough, an autocannon burst hit him mid-cartwheel, HVAP rounds opened deep gashes in his left side and arm, rendering it useless. The colonel hit the ground breathless and bleeding out.

Then the bomb impacted the maulerfiend and detonated with tremendous force tearing it apart. The explosion demolished the ground levels of the two neighbouring hab-blocks, which could withstand no more punishment and collapsed, burying the tainted column underneath tons of rubble. The deed had been done, the route blocked. The Valhallans were given a chance.

Destruction of daemon engine resulted in banishment of the daemon fused to it, which was sucked out of reality by a brief warp tear. Normally the tear would not be a problem because it was far too small and brief to allow passage for any daemon into reality. Nevertheless, it was still strong enough to pull a few loose bits of debris from its immediate vicinity. Sadly for him, the colonel was far too close when it happened and was promptly sucked into a nightmarish non-euclidean realm of perpetual madness known as a warp.

Surprisingly, after he realised what had happened, his first thought was, _It is still better than the dinner with my last mother-in-law._ It was not his first time in this hellscape, each time he was reckless he paid for it by temporary inhabitation of the realm. During his millenia, he developed a way to keep the daemonic whispers that came with it at bay. It wasn't exceedingly hard, all it took was an iron will and clear intent to keep them away.

Focus was the linchpin of his mental defences, a linchpin that was hard to control. In warp, all that mattered was what you believed in. If you believe yourself capable of surviving, then it would be so, but holding the whispers at bay while simultaneously willing his shutting organs to keep working was putting a heavy strain on his mental faculties. He poured every single piece of his soul to it. Even with his hand clutching firmly the flickering gem, and drawing upon the power it offered, was not enough. With each passing moment of eternity, the daemonic assault grew in strength, it was only a matter of when his strength would fail, not if.

_So this is how it ends? After all this time, just like this? _He said to himself. Even through the haze creeping into his vision and the insanity around him, he could see the glowing golden tendrils of the Anathema reaching out to him. Master of Mankind himself saw his lost battle from the Golden Throne of Terra, but there was no time, his strength would fail before the tendrils could reach him.

Then he saw it, a slight shimmering haze. A mirage in the madness around him. A place where the walls between reality and warp were thinner. He did not know where or when it lead, he only knew that it was within his reach and it was the only way to save his soul from eternal torment by the daemons. He gathered the last reserves of his willpower and willed himself through the thin barrier.

***** LINE *****

Faraway, on a distant world that lay safe and secure from the eldritch terrors of the dying universe a purplish swirling vortex appeared out of nowhere under the cope of heaven. A lone figure fell through it face-first into the sand and it disappeared as inexplicably as it appeared. The lone figure turned on its back and stared at the starry heavens above. Last thing the figure did before losing consciousness was looking up at the shattered moon and think to itself, _That must have been a really big bang._


	3. C1: Once More Into the Fray

_**A/N: Your eyes do not deceive you, this is actually a chapter.**_

_**08/14/19: Minor edits added. Shouldn't change readability of the chapter much.**_

When the colonel woke up with a gasp, he was covered by sand. It was eerie and unsettling to wake up buried underneath the ground. Thankfully he had his rebreather and goggles on when he went catatonic because they kept him from a whole new can of worms. It was easy to get out, the covering layer of sand was not deep, only a few centimetres. That was probably just a nightly sand-drift, which said a lot about his surroundings if such substantial amount of sand could drift freely.

He tried to stand up after digging out, but the movement was stopped by searing pain that forced him to hunch over while his hand shot to where he had been hit by the autocannon shells. As always, the phantom pains wracked his body. The physical injuries were long gone, but the pain stayed as a reminder. It was always like this and he knew that there was nothing he could do about it, he could only wait for it to pass, as it always did.

In his opinion, it had something to do with his curse and the fact that normal people died when they are killed. His body, however, always recovered, no matter the wounds inflicted, and he popped back up. It was a vicious, never-ending cycle of death and renewal. Sometimes it took days for him to regain control of his body and at other times it took centuries to reconstitute his body cell by cell from atomic particles scattered by solar winds. One of the few consolations he had was the ability to occasionally control the place of his reappearance, but that happened only sporadically. Nevertheless, certain parts of the cycle were always the same. Sudden awakening, sharp breath of air into burning lungs and phantom pains of mortal injuries long since healed.

As he was sitting there and recovering, the implications of his predicament dawned to him. Given the layer of sand that had covered his body it was clear he spent only one night lying there. It was most likely the shortest time ever needed for recovery. One night had to be a record, at least he could not remember otherwise. His memory was excellent and allowed him to recall many things, even some he would rather forget, but even it had its limits. Recalling his early years of life was difficult, the memories themselves far too vague and hazy.

Knowing that drowning himself in old memories would serve no purpose, he cleared his line of thought by a vigorous shake and few jabs to his helmeted head. He clenched teeth stood up and soldiered on through the pains. After all, the pain was only the illusion of the senses, far more dangerous things might lie around him in wait.

By looking around a few times and scrutinizing every detail, he came to the conclusion that he was standing in-between two sand dunes which limited his view by a considerable margin. From what little he could see; it was not promising. He also spotted a particularly tall dune, which could give him nice elevated position to find out more. In situations like this, benefits of high positioning were the most crucial factor in formulating a plan that had at least some chance of success.

With some effort he managed to struggle uphill to the top of the dune and looked around once again. This time he could see far and wide without hindrance, especially with the use of his hellgun's scope. It didn't help his already plummeting mood. It was more than clear that he found himself in a beige coloured pickle. There was desert to the north. There was also the desert to the west. Southern scenery was made up of unending sand dunes and to the east was nothing but a sea of sand. Because he lacked any better ideas, and staying there was definitely not a good idea, he deemed it prudent to set out. It was hard to choose in which direction. Ultimately it was settled by a coin toss. So, in the end, he slung his weapon over the shoulder and set out in brisk walking pace to south, a direction good as any.

By his estimates, he carried assorted collection of rations and water in his webbing to last him at least ten days, if he were strict with rationing water. It would not be easy, but it was within the realm of human abilities, and he was truly well aware of the limits of his body. The fact that he had no idea what to do and was not particularly fond of sitting on his ass in the middle of desert to wait for a miracle, may have helped him in the decision-making process.

During his walk, there was not that much to see, only varying shades of beige, russet, brown and blue of the sky. There was also nothing to occupy his mind during the walk. The only memorable thing was the sun doing its damnable best to boil him inside of his armour. He in turn, was not fond of the idea of leaving the armour behind for added comfort. Besides, the armour itself was designed not to be heat conductive. That, however, did not stop its top layers from heating up so much that he swore it was possible to cook on it.

Humanity is the most stubborn species in existence, and he was the prime example of said species, and there were only two ways this could end, victory or death. Thus, he became locked in a battle of wills with the sun. A battle that he eventually declared won when the sun set down and he got to enjoy the freezing temperatures of the desert night for a change.

Next several days carried in much the same manner with one exception. He would wake and get up, walk while cursing in every single language he knew, which so far allowed him to not repeat a single curse, then collapse out of exhaustion after two or two and a half day of steady walking. When one has night-vision equipment with enough battery, light is not needed to cross a distance. Night was also a welcome reprieve from the heat of day. At the same time there is much to learn from the cycle of light, if one has nothing better to do, and he didn't.

He learned that wherever he was, it seemed to resemble closely an earth-like planet. The sun rose and set in almost the same azimuth relative to what he assumed was planetary north, and each day was ten hours long, followed by eleven-hour night with remaining three hours of twilight scattered in between. This meant the planet had a mostly stable rotation that showed a promise of a better biome somewhere. That thought was only a little consolation though, because for now he had to bear the monotonous rhythm of a desert trying to drive him mad.

The exception happened of fifth day, which began as any other, until noon when something tried to eat him. More precisely it was some kind of burrowing worm, maybe a snake. It wasn't hard to see it coming, not unless you were blind or criminally incompetent. As a result, when it burst out from underneath the sand, he was not surprised by it. What he was surprised by was the method of the attack. The snake burst out a few meters away from him and then tried to attack him, instead of bursting out underneath him and gulping him down in one fell swoop.

The snake didn't look particularly menacing, even with its rather substantial size, at least not when his frame of reference included literal daemons. It was black with a few exposed white bone plates, and had multiple places the sand stuck to it, creating some-sort of improvised camouflage. As it burst upwards, he in turn dropped down on one knee and took aim. Neither the sand nor bone helped it any when he got a bead on it with his unslung hellgun. Before the snake could slither and close the distance, at least a dozen high-intensity lances from his hellgun impacted it. Each impact tore out a chunk off it or turned the sandy camouflage to glass. The final blow was a direct hit to one of its eyes. It dropped dead at his feet. He found it strange to have encountered such creature in what so far looked like arse end of nowhere. Therefore, he theorized that something, an oasis perhaps, must be relatively nearby for it to loiter in the area.

Before he could develop this idea further, he noticed something peculiar. A thin black mist was carried away from it the wind. As he studied it further, he realized the mist was the creature itself; the corpse was sublimating.

As any proper guardsman, his reaction was a fast and instinctive one. Such violation of natural laws could have only one explanation in his mind. Warp-fuckery. He reflexively put on his rebreather, performed a sideways combat roll and scanned his surroundings through the scope of his hellgun. Nothing happened, nothing tried to attack him, and the creature, now some sort of hellspawn in his mind, completely metamorphosed in the meantime. Not wanting to spend more time around it, he set off without a second thought. Disappearing snakes were way above his pay-grade, not that he had gotten paid in a long time, and he didn't really care what it was, so long as it stayed dead.

He put at least twenty kilometres between him and the place of the encounter before he allowed himself to relax a bit and slung his hellgun over his shoulder. He kept a careful eye out for any additional snakes trying to eat him, but none showed up, and he walked onwards.

The first welcome change to his monotony happened with the dawn of eight day. In the early moments of daybreak, just as he could turn off the night-vision equipment, he realized that horizon in front of him was slightly different than what he had gotten used to over the last few days. A coast appeared from the first rays of sunshine. Another highlight of that day was a particularly obstinate scorpion trying to sting him through combat boots.

Desert made way to a slightly less inhospitable arid terrain with less sand and more firm ground, even a few bushes, in one or two kilometres wide belt along the coast, suggesting the possibility of the presence of desalinated water underneath. That along with the tablets in one of his pouches meant the ability to refill his dwindling water reserves. A beach with a few palm trees was a sight that truly welcomed by him, the shade underneath the trees was even more so. The sight that took the crown was something else. Footprints, someone had passed through the area relatively recently. Either earlier in the morning or during the night, because their footprints in the harder sand of the beach still weren't washed away or hidden by wind-drift.

He carefully looked on the horizon to his left and right in the hope that he would see some indication of which way to go. Left, backtracking the footprints, showed only beach stretching on for kilometres on end. Right didn't look any better, but when he squinted, he believed he saw a glint of something. Looking at it through maximum magnification of his hellgun's optics didn't help much. It was hazy and shimmering, but there was something that stood out from the surrounding sand. Thus, he set off once more. This time with a clear destination in mind. Hoping that whatever it was in the distance, it was a part of a civilization, hopefully a friendly one that would help him get somewhere colder, more humid, with nice drinks and with working plumbing.

***** LINE *****

Amaranth was worried. She had heard a rumour that a small group of disgruntled Faunus was planning something. It wasn't hard to figure out what it was about. There had been a catastrophic collapse in one of the mines on Mantle recently, and, because most of the workers were poor Faunus trying to make out a living for themselves, certain individuals took it as a targeted attack. She was not sure whether or not it was an accident herself, but even if it wasn't an accident, then it had hardly anything to do with racism. Most likely it was some greedy pencil-pusher who didn't want to waste money closing it down or something along that line.

The near lack of progress since the Rights Revolution made the situation even worse which was slowly growing even worse with each passing year. People wanted an instant change, a fix-it-all-miracle. They did not want to struggle and suffer for it; they weren't even willing to change themselves.

Menagerie itself was the great example of that, with the vast emptiness of the entire continent that was given to the Faunus in the aftermath of the Revolution. She wasn't so naïve that she didn't see the insult in the act. The ruling councils wanted them out of their sight and Menagerie was an ideal solution for them. But that solution gave the Faunus an unexpected chance, a potential, to forge something greater, something better. Unfortunately, only a few others felt the same way.

Then there were things that most people had forgotten. Menagerie was not the only thing that was gained by the Revolution. The equality laws were passed, making Faunus and Humans equal in a court of law and in life. No longer were they preyed upon like animals, no longer they were forced into indentured service, they had freedom of choice at last. There were still some humans who held grudges because of that, and they lashed out with words and acts of racism, but in her eyes it was a small price to pay for the greater victories gained. The resentment would pass over time.

Yet, for certain people, those accomplishments were not enough. They saw themselves as those who were scorned, and did not want to acknowledge the gains because they were born with them. They did not have to fight in the Revolution for those rights. They did not suffer for them, like her grandfather suffered for them, and her father when he was still young. It was her father who made her see the bigger picture. He had taught her what he and his father had to suffer through. In her opinion, a few harsh words and the refusal of a few vendors to let her shop was nothing compared to the injustice and discrimination they had faced. Her mother didn't see things in the same light, but she mostly deferred to her father, because he was older.

When the White Fang had been founded, with a hope of bridging the divide between the Faunus and the humans, her father welcomed it. He knew it was going to be a slow process, but they were making progress nonetheless. With each gathering they changed a few minds of those who would listen. It was pointless trying to change mind of those who wouldn't want to listen, whose beliefs were not founded in any reason, who hated simply because their parents hated.

In Amaranth's opinion those kind of people didn't matter. Those who could see the truth did see it in the end. It was philosophy of her father, hearts and minds, one man at the time. Her father always said that if one struggled long enough, it was within his power to change the world.

But her father was dead now. Ravages of his youth finally caught up to him nearly a year ago. It was up to her to carry his torch. He didn't ask, but he didn't have to, she did it gladly. In her mind there was no other path than inheriting the burden of one's forefathers.

Her sister's way of coping with her father's death made Amaranth wary, because she detached herself and did more work for the Fang, to the point that the two of them rarely talked nowadays, and even when they did, their ideas were slowly becoming more and more different. It was clear they were drifting apart. It weighed heavily on Amaranth, but she knew that staying in Menagerie and Fang was not her path.

At the same time, she could not bring herself to leave. It was still her home and as such it was hard to leave. One day she had finally worked up the courage to leave, but then the news hit and spread through Faunus community like a wildfire.

The accident on Mantle. One of the Dust mines exploded. It wasn't hard to guess that it was an SDC mine, after all they had the monopoly on Dust mining. That alone would not stop her, it was the rumours that followed. The rumours about a few who would not let this perceived attack on the Faunus pass. Not because it was a tragedy, but because the vast majority of miners there were Faunus.

Amaranth knew full well what it could mean. The Faunus Rights Revolution was long enough ago that a new generations could grow up untouched, and the old ones could forget what they were trying to forget, but it was not long enough to forget all of the injustice. There were still people who remembered what most tried to banish from their memories, and those people made Amaranth uneasy. It would be precisely this group that would keep the cycle of violence going. Her insides froze at the thought that this _retribution_ for the accident could set the whole precarious balance of the world, paid for in blood, reeling.

So, she negotiated with a captain for a spot on his next return and went back to Kao Kuana to find the origin of those rumours, and find it she did.

***** LINE *****

Amaranth was careful. She may have had feline ears, but that didn't give her feline stealth, it only made her painfully aware how much noise she was making by slowly creeping to the encampment. Every time her belly touched the ground and rolled a few loose pebbles she froze. When she was sure no one saw her, she continued onwards until she neared the edge of the shadows thrown by the fire in the middle of the encampment.

A few tents were pitched around the firepit on one side and a supply laden truck on the opposite, right between the camp and Amaranth herself. Amaranth chose to approach from a direction which was hidden from observation by the truck. Then she crouched from the prone position and when she was certain that sentry wasn't looking her way she dashed to the truck and hid under it.

She had a view of the camp from her hiding spot. There were two Faunus sitting by the fire, Amaranth knew that a few members of the group were missing. Just as she finished her observation, the sentry called out to someone nearing the camp. It was the rest of the group, and they had someone with them.

Four more people, three Faunus and an armoured figure, joined the three from the camp by the firepit. Two of them threw the unconscious armoured figure on the ground, in the middle of the gathering.

"Who's that?" Asked Brass, the group's de facto leader.

"Don't know, some Atlas's thug, sent to spy on us most likely," replied Sino, who dragged the spy to the camp with the help from Reol.

"Yeah, that sounds like them." Zar voiced her agreement. The rest of the group had similar thoughts.

"Where did you find him?" asked Grull.

"Stumbled into a nest of Beowolves and Ursai, swarmed him good, pity they didn't get him," Reol started explaining, with sadistic glee in his voice.

"Butchered most of them, but it looked like he ran out of ammo for this and had to use this fancy sword here," he continued as he handed the confiscated weapons to Bole and Zar. The two were already thinking about personalizing them for themselves.

"While he was busy with the Grimm, Reol and I agreed that we really should not let an Atlesian spy sniff around freely," Sino continued the explanation.

"So Reol used his semblance to sneak up on him and, when he killed the last Beowolf, hit him hard," Sino finished, her eyes looking at Reol with lust.

"His aura must have been really low, went down immediately," Reol added his bit.

"Hmpf," Brass simply grunted.

"Guys, what was he doing here?" piped up Zar.

"Where exactly did you find him?" asked Grull. Sino pointed towards the Great Banded Desert.

"That is weird, there is nothing there," wondered Grull.

The discussion diverged from there, the entirety of it devolved into theories and rabbit trails.

Amaranth on the other hand wasn't as convinced as they were about the man's supposed Atlesian origin. It simply didn't fit the way she knew Atlas operated. She was there once at a rally; it was where she saw the Atlas military first-hand. The figure slowly stirring to life by the firepit didn't look the part. Atlas uniforms had a few easily distinguishable parts.

The figure, had none of those. The slate grey fatigues didn't match the black ones worn by the Atlas military. The armour was also different; not only by its almost midnight black colour rather than stark white of Atlas, but the design was different too. Every single Atlas soldier she saw wore light smooth-edged plates to protect their upper torso and upper arms. The armour she was looking at was as far from it as possible. The obviously angular and boxy thick heavy plates covered the entire torso along with both arms and legs, where it ended in gauntlets and heavy boots. It was separated into connected segments, perhaps to save mobility or ease in its repair. She was sure it had seen exceedingly heavy use, in some places the black paint was chipped away exposing the gunmetal material itself.

The figure stirred and tried to stand from where it was thrown down. The gathered Faunus around it noticed and stopped bickering on wild theories. Reol and Sino didn't hesitate and grabbed it by arms, twisting them behind its back and forced it to its knees in front of Brass.

The movement gave Amaranth a chance to see the iconography painted on its right armour pauldron. Whereas the rest of armour gave a positively used feeling, this piece looked well cared for. Marks were still there but they were clearly repaired and repainted.

She had never seen a coat-of-arms like that before. It was composed of bronze two-tailed lion standing on its hind legs superimposed over a silver snarling wolf head in the background. The lion also held some sort of golden sword in its paw. She didn't know what it symbolized, but it she was certain that it had nothing to do with Atlas.

Zar tore its helmet and mask off with the snap of a torn buckle. Amaranth could clearly see from her position that figure had face of a man. It had been hard to say before, with the thick armour obscuring his body shape.

The man was clearly still dazed and tried to get his bearings. Shaking his head to clear it, which caused his short-cropped dark hair to swish back and forth revealing few silvery strands gleaming in the firelight and squinting his dark brown eyes, contrasting with scarred sickly-pale face. He looked up at Brass towering above him. There wasn't a hint of fear in them, only disdain, indifference and loathing.

That surprised Amaranth. She was sure if she were in the man's position, she wouldn't be as collected as him. With aura broken and dangerous people baying for blood around her.

"What are you doing here?" demanded Brass

"Sightseeing. You should try it," the man replied, his deep voice a bit lispy from drowsiness.

The slap was unsurprising, Brass had a notoriously short fuse, as fitting with the stereotype of Bull-Faunus.

"Someone here is, sure as warp, cranky today," mumbled the man back and spit out blood.

That earned him another slap, even though he almost whispered, it was still loud enough for Amaranth to hear in her hiding spot, same as Zar.

"We know you are an Atlesian spy." Stated Brass.

The man's only reaction was a blank look.

"What was your goal here?" he continued.

"Trying to find a new way to oppress us?" shouted Zar. Brass silently gestured her to let him handle it.

"Take a guess," the man almost hissed.

The pulsing vein on Brass's forehead was clearly visible.

"I will ask again, what were you searching for?" Brass demanded.

"Something to eat. I am feeling a bit peckish," the man replied, perplexing as before.

"How did you get here? Airship?" Brass pushed on, his patience running thinner by the moment.

"Nope, I got shat out of reality's butthole," said the man with a straight face

"What's this? Some new Atlesian experiment?" asked Brass, wisely chose to ignore the last answer, and motioned to man's robust weapon.

"That's my laser pointer, you moron, medically prescribed," the man quipped.

"Fine, have it your way."

Brass could not handle it any longer. Amaranth could literally smell his growing urge to kill the man.

"You were trying to sabotage Kao Kuana and have Grimm destroy us for you! Admit it, Atlesian scum!" Zar shouted, spit flying.

"Zar that is enough!" Brass snapped.

"Brass…" Zar tried to argue, but Brass silenced her with a stern look "Fine." She whispered.

"I know you are an Atlesian spy," Brass stated, slightly more composed.

"Spy? That's a good one," the man actually laughed.

"Humph," Brass grunted.

"Let's just kill him," cried out Grull. "That will teach them to mess with Faunus."

"Yeah, Atlesian scum," Bole agreed.

"If you are done, I would appreciate if you could hurry up. I have places to be, you know," said the man, sounding impatient.

"Don't test us human. Do you think we don't have the stomach to kill you?" Brass asked.

"Do you want an honest answer?" the man asked back.

"Let's make it slow, like they made the miners suffer," Bole voiced what few desired.

"Yeah! I want to hear him beg!" exclaimed Grull.

The group spiraled into ferocious debate despite Brass's best efforts. As they were bickering among themselves Reol and Sino still had enough sense to keep a firm grip on the man.

He was not idle in the meantime, his eyes darted left and right when no-one was looking. He looked at the truck and then into the darkness below it. Amaranth knew he saw her, his eyes lingered on her, then flickered to the group and settled back on her. She slowly shook her head and mouthed _No_. One of his eyebrows rose a fraction. Eyes keeping contact with her and keeping the bickering group in peripheral vision.

Amaranth weighed her possibilities. Could she leave this unknown man to die? Should she try and save him, was it even possible to do that without killing anyone? Could she live with blood on her hands? What about the path she chose, would it still be possible to become a huntress?

In the end she had decided to act as her gut told her. Strangeness and mystery followed the man like a particularly bad stink. He was not Atlesian, no matter what the group believed. She knew he could fight; she saw it in his eyes, in his armour and in the way his body tensed and coiled at every single movement of his captors. Should they try anything for real, Amaranth believed that he would lash out like a coiled spring. His captors didn't notice, or they would have reevaluated their approach. Right now, they thought him disarmed and harmless. Disarmed he was, but she had a suspicion that he was far from harmless.

So she decided to help him escape. It was a risk, but it was one she was willing to take. Her instincts told her to, and she believed them. They hadn't let her down so far.

A slight nod was all he needed. He blinked, breathed out and even without any other action, Amaranth knew that he thanked her.

The few minutes it took them to find a way to kill him that was painful enough for their satisfaction was not enough time for Amaranth to figure out what to do. She frantically searched for anything that could give her advantage but couldn't find anything. With each passing second, she grew more distraught, until she once more caught sight of the man. There was a slight wrinkle on his cheek. It was strange how he could smile without actually moving a muscle. His eyes urged her to calm down with their intensity, so she did. She knew that he had a plan, something only he saw. She left it to him to make the first move.

The group gathered around him, Sino and Reol still holding his arms, Brass towering above him.

"You have no idea how much I am going to enjoy this, human," gloated Brass.

"Don't know, don't care," the man replied, sounding utterly disinterested.

It confused his captors a bit more. Few of them were throwing each other questioning glance.

"Do you have a death wish, or what the hell?" asked Grull incredulously.

"You don't know the half of it," the man sounded on the verge of laughter.

Brass finally had enough. He growled through clenched teeth, pulled out a dagger from his belt and prepared to strike. His irritation overpowering his desire to make the human suffer.

The man didn't wait for the telegraphed strike to land. Amaranth saw him jerk backwards, utterly surprising both Sino and Reol holding him. Both of them staggered and released him, he promptly went down on the ground, reaching for something Amaranth could not see.

Not waiting, she lunged out of her hiding spot. Brass didn't even see her coming. Before he could utter a single syllable, her grappling hook sent him head first into the truck she had been hiding below moments before. He couldn't will his aura in time and was knocked out. Bole reacted quickly; threw the weapon he has been holding at her and rushed her.

Amaranth evaded the thrown weapon and ducked under Bole's punch aimed for her face. Then she spun around Bole and kicked him in the back, sending him on the ground. He tried to get up, but the quick three-round-burst broke his aura and he dropped unconscious unable to handle the exhaustion.

A sharp crack made her look back to the man. Just in time to see Reol drop on the ground unmoving. Sino was impaled on a knife held in his reverse grip and stabbed into her jaw from below, and, like Reol, she was unmoving, blood turning her clothing crimson.

The man himself stood up from his crouch, lowered his smoking pistol and pulled the knife out of Sino who collapsed on the ground, dead. He looked around, alert and searching for the last two members of the group, Zar and Grull. She couldn't see them. They were gone, ran the moment first trouble appeared. They were still children, far too young to truly understand and easily frightened. Amaranth could make out their fading footsteps in the distance.

***** LINE *****

They didn't talk much during their rather rapid withdrawal from the encampment, stopping only for the colonel to recover all of his gear. The girl who helped him escape was worried about some sort of creatures called Grimm appearing, the same creatures his captors mentioned, as he recalled. His worries were of a different nature, two of his captors escaped, the young pair, and could have run for reinforcements. He admitted that from the last fleeting look he got of them in the scuffle, it seemed that they were terrified. Still, that was a possibility he was not willing to risk, so they run away, leaving the bodies to rot. She had been reluctant to do that, and he understood, but in the end he didn't even need to talk her out of it, as her fear of Grimm was stronger than her desire to offer a form of closure to the dead. So they run, she leading him somewhere. He didn't know where, but he reasoned he would find out sooner or later. Eventually they made camp for the night under the handily located overhanging cliff.

He stroked the firepit with a stick, threw it into the fire, sat down, and studied his rescuer in detail for the first time. She was sitting across the firepit, staring into the fire with absent minded look.

She was young. Firelight danced on her kashmir-olive sun-kissed skin. Her golden eyes had a bestial touch to them, just like the eyes of _varagyr_ did, though not as pronounced. Her dark hair with a goldish tint cascaded behind her in several braids, reaching to her hips. A few strands freely wove in the wind as she tilted closer to the warmth of fire.

From what he could see of her figure, she was in good physical shape. Muscled, but not overly so. Her muscles told of someone who worked physically challenging tasks rather than someone who purposely tried to gain strength. He also knew that she was spry and agile above the norm, as she demonstrated during the fight.

Her clothing was designed with that in mind. Mobility at the cost of protection. Light and breezy, fitting for someone living in such high temperatures. Her upper torso was covered by three white bands of cloth, two at the front and one in the middle of her back, attached to some sort of golden circlet around her neck, and tucked underneath a reddish-brown underbust corset. The remainder of it hung out the bottom of the corset, reaching her knees.

A similarly attached translucent white veil covered her shoulders, upper back and arms, held in place by intricate golden metallic biceps armbands and vambraces to which they connected. Reddish-brown fingerless leather gloves protected her hands.

She wore form fitting leather pants of the same reddish-brown colour. Intricately carved golden metallic shin guards were her only other form of armour. Her shoes seemed fitting for long treks and sudden bursts of speed, holding her feet tight and protected by thick soles.

Her most striking feature, however, were the large brown-furred feline ears with a few golden piercing rings on top of her head, in addition to the human ears occasionally peeking through her hair. Coupled with the red tattoos on her arms, she sported a strange reminiscence of a tigress. Right now, the ears were dropped low, corresponding to her look. He had seen the very same look far too many times in the eyes of new recruits on the plethora of battlefields he walked.

The colonel assumed it was the first time she had seen someone kill another living being in cold blood. Normally, he would let her to work it out on her own, but given the fact it was his actions that caused it, and her aid with his escape. he felt obligated to do something. He leaned closer to the warmth of the fire. With reluctant sigh, he begun.

"Thank you."

She was visibly jerked from her thoughts and gave him acknowledging nod. Now that he had her attention, he pushed.

"First time seeing death?"

Her eyes bore into his own.

"No."

She sounded angry now. He just arched an eyebrow.

"Alright, first time seeing someone killed?"

Her stance shifted in a second to a more sedated state, she just hung her head low. It was exactly as he had thought. It was going to be hard to snap her out of it, but he had already started and it was too late to have second thoughts.

"I know you don't want to hear this right now, but it wasn't your fault. I did it. There is nothing for you to feel guilty about."

She looked up once more, voice still wavering.

"How? It was my decision to help you that caused it."

He couldn't agree with her on that, because he was fully prepared to fight his way out. He didn't want to waste this time so soon. He shook his head.

"No, it was not. I was ready to fight, and that will never be pretty."

Silence once more descended between the two.

He tried to steer the conversation in a different direction, so he facepalmed. It was unexpected and perfectly served its purpose. The previous argument was kicked right out by the sudden movement.

"I am an idiot. I have just realized that I haven't introduced myself, how rude of me."

The almost jovial tone in which he stated the comment elicited a small smile from her. She shook her head.

"No, you didn't."

He stood up and swept away the sand clinging to him. With all the false politeness he could muster he went for the handshake.

"Name's Harkness. Sieriy Harkness," he introduced himself.

She eyed the outstretched hand for a second, then stood up and took a firm grip.

"Amaranth Khan," she introduced herself in turn.

He did bow courteously and they both sat down. Then he coughed off into his fist and looked her in the eyes.

"Miss Khan, I am certain that you have many questions," as he paused, she gave an acknowledging nod.

"I promise to answer at least some of them; however, I would prefer to do so somewhere more civilized," he finished with a smile.

She couldn't agree more with him, but there were few problems.

"As would I, but we can't go to Kao Kuana, some of your captors had rather short-tempered friends there," she said with a grimace.

"Then where do we go now?" asked Sieriy. Amaranth had thought about it as they ran earlier that day and formulated a plan.

"We need to get away from Menagerie," she replied.

In his opinion that was a good plan, one he could get behind. Still, the way she said it, there was bound to be a problem.

"Where is the catch then?" he voiced that thought.

She deliberated for a while then answered, "The only port is in Kao Kuana, the capital, and the news of the fight would have surely reached it by now."

He was surprised, because in his view that was not a big obstacle, certainly not as big as she made it out to be. If all they needed to do was sneak aboard a ship through hostile territory then their escape was almost guaranteed.

"Well then," he began, "we had better get some sleep before we start tomorrow morning. After all, we will want to get an early start."

She nodded in agreement and moved slightly further away from the fire, lying down and curling in on herself to be as comfortable as possible for the night.

Seiriy laid down himself, gazing up into the starry sky. _I wonder what will go warp this time._


	4. C2: Things that Go Bump in the Night

**_A/N: This story has been co-authored with Thraus, but he seems to have disappeared for a time. In the effort to make sure something still gets updated I'm posting this, but it will likely receive minor updates in the future._**

**_We don't own things that we don't own, and this story is rated M for a reason._**

Brass took a deep breath to calm the rage that was seething inside of him. He knew it wouldn't go away entirely, that hadn't happened since the murder of his wife, Jade, but he also knew that the chaos that it caused within him would only be a detriment to their objective right now. He hated humans for the atrocities they had committed against his people, and he would be happy to kill all of them if he could, but he knew that was beyond his capabilities. He hadn't always felt this way, he had even been friends with a human child when he was young, but as he had gotten older, the innocence and naivety had been gradually stripped away from him, showing him the truth about the nature of humans, and their dealings with the Faunus.

He had joined the White Fang as a teenager, looking for an outlet for his frustration, for a way that he could work to help his people. He participated in the rallies and the protests because he was a true believer in setting his people free. He helped, as much as they would let him, with preparations, making signs, spreading the word to gather others, physical defense of his people when the humans got too antagonistic. The leaders thanked him for his help, professed that they couldn't carry on the movement without people like him, volunteers who gave everything for the cause, but that was the extent of their support. They looked on him disapprovingly when he gotten into a few brawls. He had never been the one to start fights, and he hadn't truly meant to cause harm to the humans, but sometimes all they understood was force. Why couldn't any of the leaders see that he was helping them? Why couldn't they see that he was a true believer in their cause, that he only wanted to free the Faunus from their oppression? Why couldn't they see the things that they were blind too?

In the end, the leaders couldn't see, and Brass was reprimanded for being brash, too ambitious, and out of control. He had accepted their judgement reluctantly, at first, because he still trusted them. Although Belladonna hadn't been a part of the Revolution, several of the other senior members of the Fang had, and Brass believed that they understood the threat that was before them, that they were guiding the Fang in a non-violent manner because they truly believed they could set the Faunus free while protecting them from another war. Brass trusted in their experience, in their wisdom, because they were all working together, and that was how they would be able to better themselves.

The last scales of naivety had been stripped from Brass' eyes only a year ago. He and his family lived in Atlas then, where he worked to support one of the mining communities. He had taken his son, Adam, out for the day to meet some of his friends and get ice-cream. When they returned, the house had been torn apart, valuables taken, and he found his wife's body in their bedroom. He wasn't sure if she had been caught in there trying to fend for her life, or if they had taken her there, but it was clear that her attackers had forced themselves upon her and slit her throat some time during their assault.

It was there, kneeling on his bedroom floor before the massacred body of his wife, holding on to his young son, that he realized that the conflict between humans and Faunus was not a matter of ideological disagreement, or petty opinions based on race. No, this was a war, for only in war would the lives of the innocent be so carelessly disregarded.

Brass could understand, after a moment of reflection, why no one acknowledged that the war was happening. It was a boon to the humans if the war was never spoken of, because it kept the Faunus people from truly acting against them, allowing the humans all the time they needed to cull the Faunus numbers. On the other side, the Faunus leadership didn't want to acknowledge their state of war because the people were still tired from the last war, and didn't want to think that their efforts, and sacrifices, had been worthless. All people wanted to believe that the dark actions they commit during a conflict is justified by the achievement of the moral goal of their conflict. To think that people could steal, kill, and destroy one another simply because of an instinctual desire for conflict, forced the individual thinking to confront their own barbaric nature.

The revelation about the nature of people caused Brass to admit his own part in that, and he knew that he could, and would commit many dark actions to accomplish his goal, but he refused to acknowledge that he fought simply for the sake of fighting. He did not want to kill all humans, he knew that some of them could be good, his childhood friend had showed him that, but if he did not fight, then how many more innocents would die? How many more of those who could not fight would become victims to the slaughter on the altar of human greed? How many more old and young could he stand by to watch being put down like animals? How many more loved ones, like his wife, or his son? His failure to protect his wife showed him that he had to fight, because if he lost his son, there would be nothing left for him.

The local authorities had done little to investigate his wife's murder, though that just further confirmed Brass' new understanding of the world. They had claimed they couldn't identify the attackers, despite the fact that Brass knew it was possible to conduct a DNA analysis from samples left behind on, and in, his wife's body. They said their tests hadn't turned up any results, and that whoever the attackers were, they were not listed in their system. He was sure they just found it more profitable to ignore whatever results came up. No human could be bothered to actually investigate the death of an animal, after all.

He had packed up his remaining belongings soon after the incident, and himself and his son back to Menagerie. He had begged the leadership of the Fang to acknowledge the danger that they all faced, to recognize that the Faunus needed to prepare for another war, because if they didn't, he was sure that the war would come to them, and it would be their last. They turned him aside once again though, offering their condolences for the loss of his wife, but advising him to take some time to grieve because he wasn't thinking or seeing things clearly. _Violence and rash actions are not the way of the White Fang,_ they had said. Calm and deliberate steps towards peaceful changes were required, they were the way that the Faunus and humans would become equals.

Brass did take some time to mourn. It was a bitter few months, and he almost lost himself in the despair of facing his own weakness. There was little he could do alone against the entire human race, and without the support of the White Fang, he did not know how it would be possible for him to achieve his dream of protecting his son. He had almost reached the point of completely giving up when he realized that the leaders of the Fang had been correct. The way to protect his son was through calm and deliberate steps and gathering allies. That realization had brought him back from the edge.

Brass had started working with the Fang again. Having a clearer focus on the path forward allowed him to focus his passions, to not lash out wantonly in anger, but to channel it into the motivation and focus necessary to truly eradicate the threats that would come against him and his son. Not that he told them that. He needed them to believe that he was stable, and for the most part they seemed to believe that he was. He knew that they kept an eye on him still, but calm and deliberate steps made it relatively easy to not tip them off to his feelings. He gathered supplies, recruited others, and made plans for how they might disrupt the efforts of the human war effort. Most importantly though, Brass kept an eye out for any human threats that were moving upon the Faunus people.

Brass had been surprised when they had caught the Atlesian spy less than a year after his new crusade had begun. He and a portion of his new team had been on a training patrol out near the desert, looking to strengthen themselves, and cut back some of the local Grimm, allowing the Faunus near Kao Kuana a greater measure of safety in their day to day. It was something they did fairly regularly, and not something they tried to hide from the Fang. After all, who would turn down better safety.

When Reol and Sino had brought the man in from the desert Brass had been surprised. What would anyone be doing out there? There was nothing in the desert, or beyond it, except sand, rocks, Grimm, and more sand. Nobody lived or travelled out there. Brass didn't know that the man was actually a spy, but nothing else even remotely made sense. It was difficult to get onto Menagerie stealthily because Kao Kuana was the only port, and humans entering through it would stand out, no matter who they were. But if you could drop somebody off in the desert by air, and have them walk the rest of the way, then it would be possible to get into a position to acquire all kinds of information on the Faunus in Menagerie without being noticed. Additionally, although the armour he wore was not very similar to the standard Atlas model, their country was the only one who used and developed technologically advanced armors. It was true that some Huntsmen wore armour, and it was often quite diverse, but no single Huntsman could afford to develop and build something similar to what the man wore. It was much more likely to be a special type of armor reserved for special Atlesian operatives.

The final hint was the man's evasiveness during their questioning. Brass had been willing to withhold judgment, perhaps the man was just a Huntsman who had gotten lost, but when asked about his intentions the man had either not answered or answered with nonsensical responses. No honest person would respond in such a manner, and it had forced him to accept what needed to be done.

It would have been clean kill too, if it hadn't been for that traitorous little bitch. He wasn't sure who she was, he hadn't had a chance to identify much more than the cat ears before he was knocked out, but he did know that her interference had directly resulted in the deaths of Reol and Sino and allowed for the escape of the spy. As far as any government was concerned, aiding and abetting a spy, and murdering your own countrymen was considered treason. That made her the enemy, and the only proper way to deal with the enemy was to kill them. The need to contain their little problem was the reason they were here now, in the middle of the desert, in the middle of the night.

Brass had awoken some time after the fight. Bole was still unconscious, and only a quick check was necessary to determine that Reol and Sino were dead. Zar and Grull were nowhere to be found, which he assumed meant that they had fled back to town. He had initially been angry at that, but he had quickly forced himself to be calm. No Grimm had shown up yet, but if he allowed negative emotions to flare within him they would surely come, following the trail of his negativity after being alerted by the fight earlier.

Brass had begun dismantling the camp, loading it into the truck, and preparing to take it back to Kao Kuana, when Zar and Grull had returned with a group of White Fang fighters. They explained that they had gone into town and explained that they were being attacked by a human and had gathered a group to return to rescue any of their fellows who might still be alive. Brass knew many of the group, but some he did not. The added numbers allowed him to change his plans. Instead of heading back into town and attempting to find the human and the traitor when they came through town to escape, he would be able to track them down and end things in the desert, where he would be more in control of what word got out. It was always easier to get people to believe a story when only one side was being told.

It was also important that he only took people he trusted with him on this hunt though, so he set off with Zar, Grull, the awakened Bole, and half a dozen others he knew personally, while sending the rest back into town with the supply truck. He knew that the human was dangerous, and that the traitor was going to be with him, so he figured that double his own numbers, and being able to turn the tide of surprise on their enemy would make victory very achievable.

They had set off late in the afternoon, easily a couple of hours behind, but they should make good time on their prey, and they would not have to stop during the night because they could not see. The tracking had initially been quite easy, as there was little wind to move the dust around, and the tracks were plainly visible. They ran north, skirting between the city and the edge of the desert. It was clear that the pair did not want to return to the desert but were also worried about going directly into town.

The wind picked up as darkness set in, and the group had to slow down to make sure they didn't lose the tracks. After another couple of hours, it became nearly impossible to distinguish any signs of the pair's passage, and Brass was about to call off the hunt when someone called out a light. Seeing it as the only lead, Brass lead to group over to it to find that it was indeed their quarry.

Brass chuckled darkly at their foolishness when he confirmed who was by the fire. They had spotted the fire from a few kilometers away, well off to one side, and would never have found the pair without it. He held his group back from approaching, deciding instead to keep watch and prepare an ambush. If the pair had stopped for as long as they had then it was unlikely they would be moving for the night. There was no reason for them to give up any advantage their opponents would freely give them.

And so, Brass laid in the darkness outside their camp and waited, taking another deep breath to calm himself. Keeping the rage focused was much more difficult when he had to sit so close to his enemies without acting. As much as it would be amusing to watch his prey get attacked and eaten by Grimm, he knew that the risk to him and his men was much too high. He would just have to be patient and wait. The edge of his mouth crooked up slightly. If his son were here, the boy would no doubt be complaining about the boredom.

Why do we have to wait, Dad? I'm so bored.

Waiting is good for you, son. It builds character

_._ ***** LINE *****

Brass waited for a while after the camp went still before he gave the signal to attack. He wanted to make sure both the human and the traitor were asleep to make sure their ambush wouldn't be discovered prematurely. The fire was little more than embers by the time they did attack, and he liked to think the deeper darkness helped to mask their approach. In the end it didn't matter, as neither opponent woke up before the Faunus were upon them. The human exhibited a remarkable survival instinct that roused him to consciousness long enough to open his eyes and be lulled back into unconsciousness by a fist to the face. The knife in his hand fell from his limp grasp before he had been able to strike any of Brass' men. The girl didn't wake at all, merely shifted from one limp position to another when she was also forced to continue sleeping.

Brass had his men search the two thoroughly, removing any items that could conceivably be used as a weapon, and then removing everything else for good measure. Afterwards, the two were bound with ropes the hunting party brought from the supply truck. His men tied their hands and feet together, and then he directed them to hogtie the human's hands to his feet, and finish by tying his arms and legs together as well. Brass had underestimated the man once, and it had cost him the lives of Reol and Sino. Once might be an honest mistake, but to do so a second time was an unquestionable failure in his leadership.

He took another deep breath to calm the rage that swelled within him, and then grimaced as he forced himself to swallow the shame that came with it. He couldn't delude himself. He had already failed as a leader with that one mistake. Reol and Sino had trusted their lives to him and he had broken that trust by not fully taking their safety into consideration. Their deaths stung deeply, cracking open the fresh scars from his beloved's death. They couldn't ever cause as much pain as her passing had, but they reminded him that he was still losing the war he had sworn to win for his son's sake.

Brass grimaced again and used the painful feelings to focus himself. War required sacrifice, after all, and the important thing was that he learned from his mistakes, and that he never sacrificed his son. All others, whether he knew them or not, should be considered expendable. If their sacrifice was necessary to bring about a victorious end to this war, then no cost was too high for him to pay.

'Wake him up.'

Brass looked away from the human to their second captive. She was young, only a couple years into her adulthood. Brass couldn't accurately tell the color of her hair or feline ears in the dark night, but it didn't take long to figure out that the ensemble gave her a clear resemblance to Sienna Khan. If there was a familial connection, this whole situation was going to be tricky to deal with when they got back to town. They could just kill her and claim the human did it before they got there, but a swift death seemed too good for a traitor. Perhaps they beat her instead, remove her ability to tell on them, but keep her alive to suffer for longer. They could still claim they rescued her, but they had been unable to make it in time before permanent damage had been done by the human scum.

A quiet argument broke out behind Brass, and he looked over to see Bole arguing with another Faunus about something.

'What's going on?' he asked.

'He won't wake up,' Bole answered frustratedly, 'I even punched him again, but got nothing.'

'Have you tried splashing his face with water?'

'We don't have any water.'

'Get creative, I'm sure you can figure something out.'

Brass turned back to the girl and knelt to wake her up. He shook her shoulder, but all she did was mumble something too quiet to understand and shift positions slightly. Slightly annoyed, Brass slapped her across the face.

'PPPBBBLLEEHHH!'

The young Faunus jerked back violently, spitting dirt from her mouth and instinctively trying to retreat from the unexpected strike. She struggled against her bonds for a few seconds, mostly attempting to figure out why her limbs were not responding as they should before she focused on him. She recoiled again in fear when she recognized who he was.

'Hello, traitor. What shall we do with you?'

The girl mewled and pulled back slightly again, almost as if he had struck her. Her movements reminded him again of her resemblance to Sienna Khan.

'You got a name, cat?'

The sound of a stream of liquid hitting a solid surface was suddenly loud in the still night. The girl, drawn to the sudden noise, looked behind him and made a disgusted face. Brass assumed what the source of the noise was, but he turned around anyway to confirm it. As he did, Bole finished pissing all over the human's face and tucked himself away. He looked up and Brass caught his eye.

'What?' the wolf Faunus asked, defensively, 'You told us to get creative.'

Brass sighed quietly. He had told them to get creative, but he would have liked if they had picked something less predictably barbaric, especially from Bole. He would expect something like this from Zar or Grull, as their youth made them more susceptible to the ideas of entertainment media, but Bole was older and more mature, able to establish his own thoughts.

The method had worked though, and the human lay awake on the ground, attempting to rub as much of the foul smelling urine off onto the dirt as was possible, and spitting out any fluid in his mouth.

'Get him up.'

Two of his men, a burly bear of a man named Mell and a similarly large wolf named Cobe, hauled the human off the ground, and set him on his knees. The spy was unable to stand because of how they had tied his hands and feet together, but Brass was okay with that because the extra security was better for his people. The two Faunus continued to hold the human after they had him situated upright, both the keep him from falling over again, but also to prevent him from taking any aggressive actions.

Brass walked over to the trio and bent down to be on the human's level.

'We meet again, Spy.'

'You should have told me you were into bondage, I would have brought my whip.'

The human barely even glanced at Brass as he, drawled the flippant response. He then looked around at the rest of his captors, face shifting into a blank look.

'It never ceases to amaze me how you humans can be so arrogant to think that you can just go about killing my people without expecting any kind of repercussions. You think that putting out some news about gang activities, police investigations, and assurances that these are not acts of war will protect you, but we Faunus are not as stupid as you seem to think us.'

The human continued to ignore him, eyes roaming about the different figures in the darkness around them. They paused for a while on the form of the bound cat girl, seeming to assess her condition more thoroughly than any of his own men, before moving on.

'I cannot entirely blame you for fighting for your freedom, any warrior should be prepared to fight, and kill, for his people, but I also cannot simply forgive your actions either. You killed two of my men, attempted to infiltrate a foreign nation with intent to cause harm, and have brainwashed our youth to turn traitor against their own people. I have seen your actions with my own eyes, and for those crimes I am forced to pronounce a sentence of death.'

Brass frowned irritably as the human continued to ignore him, showing no sign that he had heard the description of his crimes. He nearly growled at the man as the rage attempted to surge forth, but he stamped it down once more, clearing his mind as much as he could to help focus on keeping any sort of edge during their interrogation.

'All I really care about at this point is that you tell me what your mission was, what you were hoping to learn from spying on us. If you tell me this, then I will make your death swift and painless.'

Brass paused to give the man a chance to answer, but he remained silent, still not even bothering to look at Brass. He could not contain the surge of anger within him this time, and Brass lunged to grab the man's jaw and throat with this left hand. He forced the human to look at him.

'Answer me, damn it! Why have your masters sent you to spy on us, snake?! Do they think we are so weak that they look to attack us openly?! Or do they send you to attack us from the shadows, to seek to terrorize our young when they are so naïve and impressionable?! Tell me! Answer me!'

The human looked at him, with that damnable impassive look still on his face before he rolled his eyes in the most condescending manner Brass had ever seen.

'Hm, No.'

*WHACK*

Fury had raged within Brass so strongly at the human's response that he had moved before he could consciously decide what he wanted to do. He had slapped the man across his face with his right hand. A punch would have felt more authoritative, but the man's face was too close, and the strength of the punch would have only made him look weaker. He was not a weak man, though he knew there are stronger men, but he knew that the true power of a punch came from the extension and rotation of the body, not just from the muscles of the arm.

'Why were you sent here, human?'

'To sell lollipops and lemonade.'

This time Brass stepped back to actually punch the man. His head turned to the side with the blow, but he just spit out some blood and turned back to look at Brass with a still blank expression on his face.

'Who sent you?'

'Your mother.'

Another punch.

'What is your target?'

'Also your mother,' the human said with the faint hint of a smirk.

Brass lost control again and punched the human repeatedly. After two hits Mell and Cobe let go and Brass continued the punch the human even as he lay on the ground. A small trickle of blood began to flow from the human's nose, and Brass was fairly sure he had broken something on the man's face, but he kept pounding his fist into the only visible symbol of his rage.

Brass kept up the onslaught for a couple of minutes before he got tired. He stepped back away from the prone body of the spy, breathing heavily. The human's face was not destroyed, but he was bleeding from multiple cuts, his nose, and his left ear. It was too early for bruises to form, but if given the time the entire side of his face and neck would be a giant mass of rainbow colours.

He was not particularly good at reading people, but it didn't take a psychological genius to figure out that the man was still defiant, even as he lay in the sand spitting blood. He realized he wasn't skilled enough to get any sort of information out of the man, and even if he continued to practice, he would never likely be in control of this situation. He frowned in displeasure but accepted the limitations of his capability and decided to move on.

'If you won't talk then we'll just have to kill you, slowly.'

'It's been a while since someone did it slowly. Everyone is so eager to move on to their next kill they don't bother to take the time to savor this one.'

Brass motioned for Mell and Cobe to pick him up once more, while he drew a knife and walked around behind the human.

'Bole,' he addressed the other Faunus, 'Why don't you begin the girl's reeducation.'

Bole gave him a confused look for a moment before he realized what Brass was asking and smiled viscously. Brass took a moment to realize that the Faunus' actions to wake the human earlier were not because of his lack of imagination, but because of the sadistic streak that came from his jackal nature. He drew a knife as he walked over towards the girl, and she began to shuffle back as quickly as she could, terrified by the look of death and malice in his eyes. Her efforts were hampered though by her bindings, and Zar and Grull grabbed her arms to hold her in place.

'Make sure she can't communicate about what happened here, Bole, but don't kill her. After all, we are supposed to be rescuing her.'

A couple of the Faunus chuckled darkly at his comment.

'I'm going to cut out your tongue,' Bole explained, brandishing his knife, 'and then I'm going to break each of your findings before I peel the skin off them. First though, I'm going to have a little bit of fun.'

He cackled evilly before he punched her in the stomach. Her aura manifested to prevent any damage, but the blow was still hard enough to lift her off her feet. She coughed and wheezed as she tried to regain her breath, only remaining upright because Zar and Grull continued to hold her, but she was generally completely unprepared for the next blow to her stomach.

Brass looked away, not entirely comfortable with the idea of beating a Faunus so young. He wanted to protect those like her, the next generation, but she was old enough to make her own choices, and she had chosen to side with the humans. At least she would still be alive after this. That was more than the humans would offer one of them.

He looked back at the human, and saw the spy looking down at the ground. With a snarl he knelt behind the man and grabbed a fist full of his hair, forcing his head up to face the 'fun' occurring in front of them.

'You don't get to look away, bastard,' he said quietly into the man's ear, 'This is what your greed and arrogance have brought on us. You do not get to look away from your crimes.'

Brass paused, grief at the loss his people had experienced at the hands of the humans welling up inside him.

'I could understand if your actions had been towards those who had fought in the war, or against any who would openly oppose you, but you are too cowardly for that. Instead you prey on the weak and the innocent, killing and raping the spouses and children of your enemies. I admit that we have stood aside, bolting from danger like deer from the hunter. But you should know, human, that even a deer fights when backed into a corner.'

Brass paused again, his grief being burned away by the fires of anger at the injustice committed against his people. His eyes narrowed as he watched the young Faunus girl finally be dropped to the ground. It seemed that Bole might be finished with his fun as he brandished his knife.

'No, you don't get to look away from this. You will watch as we destroy the innocence of her youth, leaving her marked as a traitor for the rest of her life. You will watch as someone you worked to protect is torn apart in front of you. You will watch and know the consequences of human pride and ambition. And when it is over, I will gouge out your eyes, so that the last thing you will ever see in life will be the pain on your charges face, caused by your own faults. And I will cut off your ears, so that the last thing you will hear is the whimpering of her defeated soul. Perhaps in that moment, before I cut your throat, you will understand our pain, and you will know why the deer fights.'

He fell silent, allowing the words to bring some solace to his own soul. He knew that what he had planned was despicable, but if he could bring understanding to even one of the humans, then maybe, just maybe, it would be proof that he wouldn't have to fight them all. And if the human didn't gain understanding then he would just have to assume they were all too far gone, and the war of extinction would truly begin.

Brass watched as Bole worked his knife over the girl's body. It was difficult to see exactly what was happening in the low light of the dying fire, even with the enhanced night vision of the Faunus kind. He seemed to be cutting something on her lower legs, but that didn't make sense to Brass, as none of his earlier threats had to do with her lower body. He was more surprised when the girl's legs suddenly sprang free, no longer bound together. Pieces of her bindings were visible around each ankle, but the line between them had been severed. Why had Bole cut her free?

She kicked out at her attacker, but Bole dodged one leg and deflected the other before he moved closer to her, inside the range of her kicks. She changed tactics, attempting to wrap her legs around him in a submission hold, but he punched her again before she could get good purchase. The sound of ripping leather rent the air and it was immediately clear to all what the jackal was intending. The cat began screaming, fighting even more desperately than before.

Brass, Mell, and Cobe all had to tighten their grips on the spy as he suddenly thrashed in their arms, trying anything to get free to help the girl, but the combination of his bindings and his captors' strength prevented him from generating enough leverage to break free. The girl continued to scream and struggle, but it was clear to everyone that she could not prevent Bole from having his way with her.

Bole, with his senses nearly overwhelmed by the sound of the girl's screaming and his own blood pumping in his veins, and by the red twinge his vision had taken at the thought of being able to punish the traitorous bitch, didn't even register the attack. Even the onlookers were paralyzed by complete surprise as the large black body of a sand worm flew out of the darkness and collided with the upper half of Bole. Its momentum carried it, and the Faunus, into the center of the camp where it buried itself and its prey deep in the sand, sending a shower of sand and embers all about. The attack had been so sudden that everyone in the camp was stunned, and the only movement or sound, was from the sand and embers as they settled back onto the ground. As the last of the debris settled down the unnatural stillness deepened until not even the air seemed to move.

*HUURGH*

The spell was broken as one of the Faunus let out a pained grunt. Brass looked over to see Liv, a strongly built horse Faunus, looking down at the large yellow stinger that had impaled through her torso. She glanced up and made eye contact with him briefly before she was bodily jerked back into the darkness. Understanding washed down Brass's spine like an icy chill.

'GRIIIIMMMMM!'


End file.
